Frank Delaney has proven to be a very consistent author. While not perfect, Shannon proved to be just as satisfying as his other recent works, filledFrank Delaney has proven to be a very consistent author. While not perfect, Shannon proved to be just as satisfying as his other recent works, filled with rich details about his home country and the quirks of its people.

Like with his previous books, Ireland and Tipperary, Delaney crafts a complex and realistic character, and almost uses him as an excuse to explore the natural beauty, history, mythology, and politics of Ireland; the country itself tends to serve as the protagonist in Delaney's works. This time around, however, the story is considerably darker; the narrative follows Catholic priest and WWI veteran Robert Shannon, a victim of profound Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder that was triggered first on the battlefields of France and again within the secret corners of the church after the war, as he travels along his namesake river in Ireland in an attempt to find his family's history. Though he makes the journey as a fragile innocent, attempting to heal his own shattered psyche, the reader learns that the trip might have been masterminded by powerful men in the church, and that the cause of his shell shock relapse might be more dangerous (to both those same powerful men and to himself) than he realizes. As Robert wanders like a sleepwalker through a nation troubled (unbeknownst to our war-weary traveler) with the beginnings of its own war, he is followed, guided, hunted, and protected by people who have various stakes in the success of his mental recovery.

That synopsis makes the story sound exciting, and with this book being a considerably slimmer volume (just under 400 pages) than Delaney's other books, I somewhat expected the story to move fast and focus more on the main narrative than on the enchanted Irish setting. This, however, proved not to be the case; Delaney tells the story with what I am beginning to recognize as his signature style, by setting a deeply conflicted character loose into a lush, fully realized, and lovingly painted landscape, and letting the story happen organically through the character's detailed observations of the land and people around him. This can make for slow going in terms of plot, but once again I found myself so enthralled by the colorful anecdotes, rustic characters, and political machinations of Delaney's Ireland that I didn't at all mind the leisurely pace of the story. The narrative eventually evolves into a poignant love story, if somewhat awkward and curiously solemn and light on actual passion, that is actually reminiscent of the main story of Tipperary. While the last third of the book threatens to descend at turns into mawkishness and gloom, the ending maintains a surprising level of suspense and finishes on a quietly satisfying note, with all loose ends neatly tied up and (importantly, in my mind) the protagonists finding some of what they want/need while preparing to continue the fight for the rest.

Characters are given histories and depth through various flashbacks that detail the paths which led them to their current roles in the story. Things are a little hit and miss here; I found Robert to be a fascinating character, and was sympathetic to and curious about him from the very beginning. Ellie Kennedy, a figure from Robert's wartime past that ends up playing an important part in his current journey, is also an interesting and likable character. However, I think more time than necessary was spent on Robert's bombastic mentor in the church, and while details on the story's shadowy antagonist are important, a lot of them seemed somewhat irrelevant, if interesting. Some of the bit players in the story seem almost like stereotypes in their simplicity, though every one is certainly charming and enjoyable to read about.

Shannon seems almost like an experiment for Delaney; it feels like a step away from his previous atmospheric works, and an attempt at integrating that successful style into a more cohesive and engaging story. However, it retains most of what makes Delaney's stories so recognizable and interesting: the layered characters, the detailed (and entertainingly told) snippets of Irish history and mythology, and the tendency to make Ireland itself the real hero of the story. This clash of setting and plot threatens to be discordant every now and again, but it ultimately works. As with Delaney's other books, I would highly recommend this to anyone with an interest in Irish history or historical fiction, and most especially to those interested in both....more

Jacky Faber joins the cast of Big River! Seriously, though, this one was kind of a letdown.

The book picks up right from the cliffhanger ending of theJacky Faber joins the cast of Big River! Seriously, though, this one was kind of a letdown.

The book picks up right from the cliffhanger ending of the last book; faced with imminent capture by the British Royal Navy for piracy, Jacky is rescued at the last minute through the cunning schemes of her loyal and talented friends. Needing a safe port to ship out from, she decides to make her way down the Mississippi River to New Orleans. Accompanied by her steadfast friend John Higgins and the taciturn Katy Deere, she bluffs her way down the river in typical showboating Jacky Faber style, encountering new friends and enemies... and leaving a trail in her wake for the ardent Jaimy Fletcher to follow, who has deserted his post to track down his love once and for all.

So, the story encompasses the length of her journey down the river, and reads about like any other similar story of rafting through the Deep South during the slavery days. Which works fine, really; Meyer infuses this story with the same charming ambience and historical adventure that he does with all of the other Bloody Jack books. But other than the new locale, there isn’t really anything new, here; Mississippi Jack feels intensely formulaic. It’s all been done before: Jacky visits an exotic place with unfamiliar people, who love and accept her right away! Some handsome older man immediately lusts after Jacky, and though a rake, proves honorable in the end! Jacky tries to reunite with Jaimy and humorously fails, multiple times! Bleh. Jacky’s trip down the Mississippi is punctuated by a variety of exciting and unlikely adventures, but none of them are particularly memorable, especially compared to the books that came before.

There are a couple of bright points, which are the same bright points that mark the entire series. Jacky Faber has just the right mix of charm and infuriating naivete to make her a loveable character, despite her Mary Sue-ness. The supporting characters are less developed, but are still immensely fun to read, and add a lot of flavor to the story. And it’s nice that Jaimy finally gets a little action this time around; I’m so used to seeing him as the cardboard cutout love interest that it was refreshing to read about his own adventures, even if he doesn't have the uncanny luck that Jacky does. Also, I have to say that I’m a pretty big fan of Mike Fink.

There’s a lot to like, and I’ve been pretty forgiving with this series so far, but the ending of this one more or less ruined the entire book for me. I’ve noticed a pattern of strong stories with weak endings from Meyer, and this one was particularly egregious. After a completely ridiculous plot device that recalls the flying tree business from the first book, the story wraps up with surgical precision in roughly two chapters. All of the major players in the story mysteriously meet up all at once, apparently through sheer chance. Jacky neatly overcomes two entirely separate endgame obstacles in the space of about five pages, and the story wraps up with a sterile happily-ever-after moment. This, mind you, after a meandering story with an erratic pace (though that’s fairly typical for the Bloody Jack books) and, damningly, no perceivable climactic moment. It reads like Meyer didn’t know how to end the long and complicated story he had written, and so he just tied all of the story threads into a big bow in the last chapter and left it at that. It wasn’t badly done, per se. It was just so extremely unsatisfying that I couldn’t really help but hate it.

So, yeah... not a terrible book, but definitely not my favorite, either. After finding the first four books so enjoyable, this one feels a little stuck in a rut. I like the books enough to finish the series, though, so hopefully the next one will be composed a little better....more

At four volumes, this is a lot of book. I decided to read it around the time that Beijing was making news for their Olympic preparations, as Three KinAt four volumes, this is a lot of book. I decided to read it around the time that Beijing was making news for their Olympic preparations, as Three Kingdoms is a beloved classic there and reputedly informs much of Chinese culture. After making my way through this epic, I can certainly see why, though I personally felt that it was a little more military history than novel.

Trying to pay attention to the particulars of Three Kingdoms can be a daunting task; there are literally hundreds of characters, many with similar names, and a majority of the novel is dedicated to descriptions of battles and their outcomes. Between the multitude of characters and the multiple repetitions of specific military stratagems, many parts of the story began to blur together for me. During the third and fourth volumes, I had to resist the temptation to skip forward and just read the chapter names in order to get a summation of events, passing over all of the lengthy battles and strategic discussions between generals and their subordinates. The translation doesn’t make things easier; though Roberts’ translation is heralded as the best, it is still rife with errors, and it feels like there is some specific cultural significance lost reading it in English, making certain scenes and actions seem somewhat incomprehensible to me as a Western reader.

The beauty in Three Kingdoms, though, is in the big picture. I often struggled to understand what was going on in a specific chapter, but the more I ruminated on the myriad power shifts, alliances, betrayals, ascents to power, and tragic falls that link together throughout the course of the book, the more fascinated I became with the entire story. The characters, too, are impressive; despite their numbers, each character is distinctly defined, with their own mannerisms, motivations, and personalities. At first, I was somewhat disturbed by the fact that almost everyone seems to be a scheming bastard who is not above compromising their own ethics and committing reprehensible acts, including the “good guys” (the only standout exception in my mind is Zhao Zilong). However, in context with the whole story of the fall of the Han and warring of the three kingdoms, this only serves to highlight both the complexity of the characters themselves and the harsh realities of their situation.

Even though I struggled at times to finish this dense, complicated book, I think anybody who is a fan of Asian culture or military history should give it a read. Especially if they have been exposed to and were intrigued by the multiple references to Three Kingdoms in modern movies, comics, and video games....more

I think that most of the fantasy I’ve been reading lately has been taking itself quite seriously. Lots of death, sex, political intrigue, and bleak fuI think that most of the fantasy I’ve been reading lately has been taking itself quite seriously. Lots of death, sex, political intrigue, and bleak futures. The first book in Novik’s Temeraire series is exactly what I needed: a fresh take on a well-worn fantasy trope that doesn’t need high-minded literary aspirations due to it being so fun to read. Not to say that it isn’t literary either; His Majesty’s Dragon is a pretty great work of fantasy fiction.

This first book introduces the reader to William Lawrence, a sea captain in the Royal Navy. The books take place in an alternate version of Europe during the Napoleonic Wars, where dragons not only exist but are fairly common, and a key element of most nations’ military forces. After a quick battle with a weakened French ship, Lawrence recovers a prize of great value: a dragon egg, ready to hatch. The intelligent animal unexpectedly picks Lawrence to bond with; duty compels Lawrence to leave his beloved ship and become an aviator, simply for the sake of putting another British dragon in the skies. However, his initial reluctance to leave his sheltered life as an officer and gentleman to become a social pariah (as most aviators usually are in this England) quickly fades, as he begins to form his own bond with the unique black dragon, who he has named Temeraire after the famous Royal ship of the line. Lawrence and Temeraire’s training progresses quickly due to the dragon’s extraordinary intelligence and unique flying abilities, but a clever plan by Napoleon to invade England forces them into action, and unveils some startling truths about what Temeraire is and where he came from.

The entire book rests on the relationship between Lawrence and Temeraire, and it does so comfortably. Both are excellent, sympathetic characters. Lawrence’s stilted manners and fish-out-of-water naiveté contrasts perfectly with Temeraire’s wide-eyed innocence and occasional childish enthusiasm, making them an easy pair to like and root for. Admittedly, though, their relationship does take some getting used to. Between the histrionics each goes into at any perceived threat towards the other and Lawrence’s baffling tendency to refer to Temeraire as “my dear,” there are some initial overtones of gay man-dragon love. But as the book progresses, Novik does a fantastic job of defining the strong, unique relationships between the captains and their sentient dragons. I perceived it as a mix of the feelings a person would have towards a child and a particularly loved pet. In any event, once the initial “wtf?” feeling wears off, it is written well enough to make some of the scenes between the dragons and their respective people heart-wrenching, if occasionally too sentimental.

As with any good alternate history that takes place in wartime, the battles are the highlights of this book. Novik eschews the “dragon-rider” approach, and instead puts forth the notion that dragons can support actual crews of various sizes, who operate much like naval crews of the time would. Thus, each battle scene mixes the tense, orderly progression of a naval clash with the chaos of aerial warfare. Also, we’re talking about dragons that can do cool dragon things like spit acid and claw things apart. It really doesn’t get much cooler than that.

The story is probably the weakest element of the book, in that it’s understated and doesn’t take a whole lot of surprising turns. This book has a distinct “introductory” feel, meaning that the establishment of the characters takes precedence over the actual plot. This doesn’t actually cause any problems for the majority of the book, since the world and characters are so interesting that the story shines in a bit of their reflected light. However, the ending retains that simplicity; once the final twist is revealed, everything resolves itself with simplicity that strains credulity. Considering the buildup to the climactic scenes, I simply don’t buy how things turned out.

The ending was almost unsatisfying enough for me to knock a point off, but I had so much fun reading this book that I decided to let it go. This is good, solid fantasy. I’ve never been a dragon guy; I’ll admit to never having read a Pern book despite being a longtime sci-fi and fantasy reader. So, I can’t really speak to how His Majesty’s Dragon holds up to other books in the dragon genre, assuming that there is such a thing as a “dragon genre.” But I can overwhelmingly recommend this book for fantasy readers, alternate history readers, and those with a penchant for wartime or historical fiction that don’t mind some flights of fancy. I’ve already bought the next two; I’m sold....more

I was going to start this review with a recollection of how I ended up in a hot tub with Brian Selznick, but I think I’ve dropped that particular nameI was going to start this review with a recollection of how I ended up in a hot tub with Brian Selznick, but I think I’ve dropped that particular name enough for one lifetime, so I’ll just leave it at this: librarianship can make for some pretty weird anecdotes.

Anyway, at first glance, this book seems hefty for a children’s story. Opening the cover reveals an ethereal mix of hand-drawn sketches and sparse, elegant prose that unfolds like a mix of picture book, fable, and silent film. I can’t think of anything else like it.

The story is deceptively short enough that I don’t want to give too much away. Hugo Cabret is an orphan that lives in the walls of a Paris train station, taking care of the clocks and stealing food to survive. Every now and then, he visits the toymaker’s booth in the station and makes off with small windup animals, which he cannibalizes for parts to repair a miniature figurine he keeps in his room. The mysterious automaton is the only memento Hugo has left of his father, and he is convinced that if he gets it working it will impart an important message. When the toymaker catches him one day, it sets off a chain of events that connects Hugo’s mechanical man with the dreamlike movies his father used to talk about, and forever alters the lives of both Hugo and the toymaker.

The most striking elements of the book are the two-page illustrations that frequently intersperse the narrative. They can be disorienting at first, until the reader realizes that they are integral to moving the story along. They are scenes in themselves, rather than mere accompaniment. The pictures are wonderfully drawn, and framed in such a way that something almost like animation emerges if you flip through them in just the right way. Selznick’s prose is simple and straightforward; all of the charm and wonder resides in these visual interludes.

The only complaint that I have with the book is that things get a little anticlimactic near the end. Selznick builds so much fantastic wonder, especially in the beginning, that the resolution feels exceptionally earthbound. This in itself is a bit of a brilliant stroke, though, as the story was inspired by a real turn-of-the-century filmmaker and his odd collection of automata. Taken as a whole, The Invention of Hugo Cabret is a paean to how extraordinary the little quirks and foibles of ordinary life can be, especially when you are twelve years old. Despite its impressive page count, this can be read in a day, and is filled with enough enchantment to hook readers of any age. I plan on putting it in my son’s hands as soon as he’s able to read on his own....more

I've never been a mystery reader, and only started exploring the genre this year, when I began working as a librarian and inherited the helm of a mystI've never been a mystery reader, and only started exploring the genre this year, when I began working as a librarian and inherited the helm of a mystery book club. I decided to give this one a try, since I've always liked stories with WWII settings. I expected a somewhat pulpy noir book, considering the setting. That's largely what I got, but I ended up being surprised; I loved this book a lot more than I thought I would.

This book introduces Billy Boyle, a cop from South Boston that has heretofore made do on the largess of his family and community connections. We learn early on that he is the nephew of a famous general, and thus he finds himself on his way to what he believes is a cushy desk job in the military. Instead, he is shipped off to England, and told that he is to put his detective skills to work under the personal supervision of the English and American military brass. A German spy threatens to reveal the secret plans being hatched to liberate Norway from the Nazis, and Boyle has been enlisted to ferret him out. As the investigation gets underway, though, a prominent Norwegian minister (and a possible suspect) commits suicide, and Boyle has reason to believe that foul play was involved. Along the way, Boyle unexpectedly earns two new companions who treat him like a bonafide detective instead of a jumped-up beat cop who knows the right people: an English Second Officer named Daphne Seaton, and Piotr Augustus Kazimierz, a mousy Polish baron that goes by "Kaz." As Boyle works to prove himself up to the task given to him, he realizes how entwined the various crosses and double-crosses really are, and how dangerous his new job really is, to both himself and to those involved with him.

The cover art and plot synopsis lead me to believe that I would find a lightweight, setting-focused read. I was fine with that, because that's exactly what I was in the mood for. Benn handles the premise just right; the first few pages transported me back to the 40s pretty effortlessly. The history is well-researched, but never dry or self-important, offering just the right balance of authenticity and readability. And the slang made me happy. I keep trying to bring back phrases like "say, Mac, what's the big idea" with varying levels of success, so I was wholeheartedly content with Boyle's "gee whiz" vernacular (although, the running joke of Kaz and Daphne trying to decode it got old pretty quickly).

So, I didn't expect the Great American Novel, and I didn't get it. But I finished this book a much bigger fan than I thought I'd be. The story's execution was somewhat predictable, and the pace gets muddied by various adventures that only serve to give Boyle cool, sexy stuff to do. But this book is just so damned readable. Boyle fits the archetype of the charming, serendipitous detective, but he is also full of self-doubt, and morally ambiguous enough to make him unpredictable. The supporting characters, while somewhat inconsistent in their development (for example, Kaz is layered and interesting, while Daphne is... not), are all uniformly likeable. Benn improbably creates an intimate "Scooby Gang," including the mucky-mucks at the top, in the middle of a vast and dehumanizing wartime setting.

The only reason I didn't give this five stars is because of the afore-mentioned Gumpish pace breaks. Also, the ending stretches credibility just a little bit more than the rest of the already improbable story, and I can't let go of the fact that Boyle solves the mystery based on a time-tested medical cliche that is flat-out incorrect. Honestly, though? I still liked the book.

I guess I am revealing myself to be a bit of a biased reviewer; I am willing to forgive a lot in books like this simply because I enjoyed reading them, whereas you get less leeway if I don't get my bread and circuses. There's a lot here at which to turn up your nose if you are a bonafide literati. And by that, I mean the smug, wispy buttholes in horn-rimmed glasses and ill-fitting sweaters, hanging around used bookstores in the hope of finding a Pynchon first edition. If you don't like WWII stories or light mysteries with plenty of noir homage, this one might not do it for you. However, I found this book to be a lot of fun. While it wasn't perfect, it has a lot of potential. I am definitely checking out the next in the series....more

I was strongly recommended this book after reading and enjoying Delaney’s subsequent work, Tipperary. The acclaim from friends and colleagues was certI was strongly recommended this book after reading and enjoying Delaney’s subsequent work, Tipperary. The acclaim from friends and colleagues was certainly not exaggerated; the book immediately grabbed my imagination, and is one of the most enjoyable I have read in quite some time.

The book opens with a fateful meeting between a young Irish boy, Ronan O’Mara, and an itinerant storyteller who comes to stay at his family’s house for a few evenings and regales the neighborhood with vivid, fascinating tales of Ireland’s myth and history. The story follows Ronan through his youth as he attempts to find the old man again, and through both the journey itself and the various stories and fables he is told on the way, he explores the secrets of his own family and discovers the quiet, waiting destiny born of their revelation.

The star of this book is the rich selection of Irish folk tales hidden in its pages, bringing to life such towering figures as Brian Boru, St. Patrick, Strongbow, and James Connolly. The lyrical and dreamlike quality of these stories brought them to life as I read them; they begged to be read aloud, and I can see why many have suggested that this book be enjoyed as an audiobook. Ultimately, I felt that the book was all about the power of collecting and passing on these stories; the tale of Ronan was secondary to the exploration of the storytelling tradition. Personal perspectives on history, including the balance of emotion and fact, are big themes in this book.

Which leads me to my only complaint: the main narrative begins to drag in the final third of the book. As pained as I am to admit it, the central story of Ronan and the Storyteller is not very strong. The motives of the characters are muddled and unclear, and the twists near the end are not very difficult to see coming (I guessed both of them well before they were revealed). After I read about halfway through the book, I found myself largely ignoring the narrative in favor of the interspersing historical/mythological stories, until the last fifty pages or so.

Even with that problem, though, I loved reading this book. Delaney is a talented storyteller, and has a knack for placing layered, realistic characters in a magical and almost dreamlike interpretation of a country he obviously loves and has extensively researched. This translates into an literary Ireland in which I very much enjoyed spending time exploring....more

This is a grim book, though its bleakness is mitigated somewhat by its short length. At under 300 pages, The Witch's Trinity offers a nightmarish paraThis is a grim book, though its bleakness is mitigated somewhat by its short length. At under 300 pages, The Witch's Trinity offers a nightmarish parable rather than an epic, and in my opinion is just the right length, as any more story would likely be too depressing to take. As it is, the book is entertaining in its delivery and fascinating in its layered message.

The story takes place in 16th century Germany, in a small village wracked by famine. The narrator is an elderly woman named Gude who has lived beyond her working years and is dependent upon her desperate, hungry family. An itinerant friar arrives at the village, ostensibly to cure their spiritual ills and bring prosperity back to their fields. As proof, he offers the latest literature on the subject as his guide: the Malleus Maleficarum. What follows is Gude's increasingly frantic attempts to keep herself and her grandchildren safe as the villagers fall upon one another to root out the witch, spurred on by encouragements, threats, and bribes by the friar. As she attempts to separate disturbing visions in the forest from the tricks of her increasingly senile mind, she also fights (as far as she knows) for her own soul's salvation, as well.

On the surface, this is a powerful witch-hunt story, told with exquisite historical detail and imbued with the right amount of suspense and horror (both supernatural and all too familiar). However, just as with similar stories before it, The Witch's Trinity hints at deeper, more disturbing themes. Of particular note are the lengths one will go to in order to protect their family and themselves, the consequences of adhering blindly to doctrine, and how the evils humans will visit upon one another are the same regardless of what religion is used to justify them. The specter of starvation is a much more oppressive force than that of witchcraft in this book, and drives the story to terrifying effect.

I think there are messages in this book that are particularly timely and prescient. Even aside from that, however, this book grew on me, and I thought about it for days after I finished reading it. It is both a quick and engaging read, and I would recommend it to those with a taste for these kinds of stories....more

I read this just in time for St. Patrick’s Day, and it was a great choice even though it didn’t actually take place in Ireland. This is the first bookI read this just in time for St. Patrick’s Day, and it was a great choice even though it didn’t actually take place in Ireland. This is the first book in an expansive series of period mysteries starring plucky Irish dalaigh (lawyer/detective) Sister Fidelma. I’m told the series improves over time, which is exactly what I needed to hear; the rich setting and characters stand in contrast to fairly lackluster writing.

Our heroine accompanies a delegation to Saxon Northumbria, where the Synod of Whitby is convening to debate the merits of the Celtic and Roman churches in order to decide which will become orthodoxy in the kingdom (thus ensuring its spread throughout the entire region). When a vocal leader of the Celtic delegation is found murdered, the Northumbrian king calls upon Fidelma’s talents to help solve the murder before it spirals into a civil war. However, for the sake of political appearances, she must conduct her investigation concurrently with Brother Eadulf, a monk from the Roman delegation.

The book is worth reading for the setting alone. Tremayne has obviously done exhaustive research on medieval England and Ireland, and the various towns, abbeys, and landscapes are written with such care that they are characters themselves. The human characters are no less enjoyable, and transcend the “thou art” stuffiness one would expect from the setting. The ensemble is rife with chemistry and unexpected personalities.

Tremayne’s attention to detail is also a problem, though, in that he gets in his own way while trying to write an actual mystery. He takes such great pains to ensure that readers are informed and comfortable with the somewhat esoteric setting that he ends up repeating things, often within a page or two. Furthermore, the plot hints he drops are anything but subtle, again due to his penchant for over-explaining. I guessed the murderer's identity before the murder even occurred, because the clues were painted in such overly broad strokes that I literally couldn’t suspect anybody else.

However, as I said, I’ve been informed that the writing gets better as the series goes on, and this gives me hope. Despite the predictable plot and clunky writing, the book is enjoyable solely on the merits of Fidelma herself and the world she inhabits. It’s not a particularly enthralling mystery, but it’s pure gold for those who enjoy historical fiction....more

I picked this wonderful little teen read up completely by accident, when providence led me to notice a book about a pirate-fighting stowaway sitting oI picked this wonderful little teen read up completely by accident, when providence led me to notice a book about a pirate-fighting stowaway sitting on a shelf right next to Twilight, of all things. This book has since become one of my favorite young adult books; it has a lot to love both for teen and adult readers.

Bloody Jack tells the story of Mary Faber, an orphan girl from the streets of 19th-century London. After a tumultuous childhood in a gang of urchins, Mary suddenly finds herself at loose ends and in imminent need of protection from an increasingly dangerous life in the city. After discovering that the streets treat unattended boys much differently than they do unattended girls, Mary shears off her hair and starts going by the name Jack. She negotiates herself onto a British naval ship using her uncommon ability to read, and becomes a ship's boy on the HMS Dolphin. Once there, she balances her sailor's education and the brotherhood of her fellow ship’s boys with the increasing difficulty of keeping her secret. A complicated situation becomes even worse when she finds herself in the midst of deadly naval battles, a potential mutiny, and... most dangerous of all... a budding romance.

In my opinion, for teenage readers or those looking for a simple adventure book, this one has it all. The action and introspection come in equal measure and rely on each other quite nicely. There is plenty of explanation on the daily business of sailing, for those with an interest in such things, and the battles are accurate and suspenseful without being too gruesome. Meyer pays a lot of attention to setting, and I particularly liked the subtle change in Mary's dialect as she progresses through the story, from rough street slang to more cultured speech with the occasional relapse during stressful situations. The characters tend towards the stereotypical, but they serve their purposes quite nicely and are interesting and sympathetic on the whole. I have to admit that Mary sometimes skirts the line of being a Mary Sue, with a surprising array of talents and a knack for being the center of attention (sometimes without explanation) in any given situation. However, most of her moments in the limelight have a decent connection to the plot and her back story, and she's no more precocious than any other heroine in a good young adult novel.

I only have one complaint with Bloody Jack, and it's a relatively minor one: the plot device used to transition into the final act of the book. Without giving too much away, I really like the events that lead up to the scenes on the outlying island, and the climax is fantastic. The plot device itself is foreshadowed throughout the course of the story. Even with all that, though, I still couldn't help but be amused and irritated by the sheer convenience of it all. Compared to the meticulous realism and grittiness of the rest of the book, the circumstances of the "HMS Hope" are so outlandish that the whole thing could come from a cartoon, and it was the only point at which I was dragged out of the story.

Despite that minor glitch, though, this book is deftly executed, and a whole lot of fun. I just included it in a teen historical fiction display I put together for Women's History Month, because I'm eager to recommend it to any who might be interested in historical fiction, plucky heroines, pirate books, or just a nicely paced adventure story. Best of all, the story is self-contained, with a bittersweet ending and only hints of a sequel. I wish more authors would realize that this makes me want to read the next books so much more than writing a giant trailer for their series. On to the next Bloody Jack books!...more

This is a fictionalized account of Malcolm X's teenage years that reads like a street fable. The book begins with Malcolm's childhood in Lansing, wherThis is a fictionalized account of Malcolm X's teenage years that reads like a street fable. The book begins with Malcolm's childhood in Lansing, where his family lives in poverty after his father is murdered. After he and his siblings are separated from their mother by the state, a stint in Boston with an older sister opens his eyes to the racism he has always faced without realizing it, and leaves him disillusioned with his father's high-minded ideas of pride and equality. He throws himself headlong into a rollicking nightlife of jazz, liquor, drugs, and women, first in Boston and then in the glittering paradise of Harlem, and finds solace in his growing power and stature on the streets. But when the dark side of his new lifestyle inevitably catches up with him, he is forced to face the sadness and rage that never really went away, and decide whether to continue on that path, to return to his father's path, or to forge a new path of his own.

It goes without saying that Shabazz paints a personal, compelling portrait of her famous father as a young man. But she and Kekla Magoon also did something that many authors try for and fail: they have written an edifying historical piece while still presenting a tight, readable story. The setting hums with slang and shady characters, and Malcolm's arc progresses through danger, triumph, and a crucial period of personal change. Magoon admirably smooths over moments of potentially boring memoir with a deft blending of detail and artistic license. This still doesn't quite fix the pacing problem in the last third of the book, when the narrative slips into a repetitive cycle of hustles and paranoia, ending in a lyrically introspective coda when Malcolm rechristens himself with his famous moniker. Still, even with the seams of a history lesson showing, this is a great read for a wide swath of YA readers, both those familiar with Malcolm X and those who aren't but wouldn't mind a good story of coming from nothing and discovering your own destiny....more

Seriously, it's about time Jacky Faber did some pirating. I've been waiting for it since the first book. This book is the best**spoiler alert** Yarrr!

Seriously, it's about time Jacky Faber did some pirating. I've been waiting for it since the first book. This book is the best of the series so far, in my opinion; the backdrop and pace match up perfectly with Jacky Faber's inexhaustible energy and irritatingly numerous talents, which takes some of that Mary Sue edge off and makes her even more likeable.

Instead of picking up right where we left off, this one begins a few months after the end of Curse of the Blue Tattoo. Jacky is freshly returned to her home city and country after a cruise on a whaling ship (where she apparently managed to serve as both midwife and surgeon without any prior experience, and earned the burning passion and undying devotion of a strapping Quaker lad, besides), and goes in search of her lost love, Jamie Fletcher. Through a series of misunderstandings that arise directly from Jacky's incorrigible nature, though, she ends up back at sea underneath a corrupt, insane British captain. Utilizing her usual blend of spunk, derring-do, and unbelievable luck, she not only avoids a dismal fate aboard the H.M.S. Wolverine, but begins to realize her cherished wish of being master and commander of a globe-crossing merchant ship. Well, globe-crossing privateer ship, but it’s a step in the right direction, and more exciting in any event.

I’m going to pause here and point out that as this book begins, Jacky Faber is 15 years old. While I (and you too, I'm sure) had plenty of grand schemes and cherished wishes brewing at that age, the crowning achievement I had attained thus far was successfully growing five-eighths of a goatee. Plundering French merchant ships, establishing my own business, and breaking the hearts of every woman that crossed my path weren't quite on the agenda yet. Just wanted to point out that contrast.

Anyway, just as things finally start looking up for Jacky, she finds herself betrayed and hunted by some of the same sailors she once served with. Now, she must find a way to avoid the hangman’s noose that has dogged her steps since her childhood on the streets of London, and save her new crew from the same fate.

As much as I liked the first two books, this one really felt like the payoff I was waiting for, right from my initial look at the spiffy cover art of Jacky with a tricorne hat lowered over her brow, triumphantly waving the Jolly Roger. Not only is Jacky back at sea after the strangely-paced adventures on land from the last book, but we skip over most of the day-to-day nautical lore and get right to the good stuff: ship-to-ship combat, boarding parties, and daring port jailbreaks by bands of Irish privateers. The story is essentially presented in two acts: in the first, Jacky ends up commanding a British warship, and in the second, her own pirate ship captained by none other than Liam Delaney, her "sea father" from the first book. Between the frenetic action sequences, the reunions with beloved friends at all points in the story, and the proficiency with which Meyer makes us want to cheer for Jacky, it's much harder to nitpick on the same problems in this book that exist in the previous two. You know, small things, like how a 15-year-old girl manages to take command of a British warship in the first place, or why everybody she meets wants to dedicate their lives and service (quite literally) to her simply because she's nice to them. I found myself more forgiving this time around, because Jacky Faber is a pirate queen, god damn it, and pirate queens are super awesome.

My only problem here is that this book seemed to me like a great high point to finish the tale. The story could have ended happily in high-flying, bombastic, Jacky Faber-ish style... and yet, at the end of the book, we seem to be headed back into territory similar to the last book. Well... okay. It's YA, which means that continuing episodes with a familiar, sympathetic character is par for the course. And Jacky is noticeably maturing and changing, so further adventures are definitely welcome. I'm just feeling a new sense of caution as I head into the next installment, because I've been burned by series that go on too long way too many times before.

On the other hand, there is a definite pulp quality to these stories, which Meyer himself alludes to through the plot device of Amy Trevelyne's book, published throughout England by the time this book begins. The fictional book retells the events of Bloody Jack, and not only reveals too much of Jacky's history to the general public to make her entirely comfortable, but also encourages even more fanciful exaggerations and distortions of her exploits by those who read it. This actually made it easier for me to dismiss my criticisms of Jacky's character, and accept her for what she is: a temptress, girl of action, and folk hero, in the vein of all good escapism....more

This is definitely a book about a place rather than a person, and it breaks the YA mold in a number of ways, most notably by eschewing the OMG PLOT OMThis is definitely a book about a place rather than a person, and it breaks the YA mold in a number of ways, most notably by eschewing the OMG PLOT OMG LOVE TRIANGLE OMG approach in favor of a very gritty story about teens who are forced by circumstance to be adults.

Set in a version of 1930s Australia that is swarming with ghosts and the violence that creates them, Razorhurst focuses on Kelpie, an orphan who can actually see and hear the ghosts around her and has relied on them to survive alone on the streets, and Dymphna, a well-known prostitute who is both younger and smarter than she lets on, and has learned to ignore the ghosts for fear of going mad. The two of them are thrown together by a murder which portends an end to the uneasy truce between Razorhurst's two criminal factions, and they cling to one another as everything begins to unravel around them.

I had trouble staying engaged with this book in the beginning because it defied my expectations a little. Kelpie and Dymphna both know right from the beginning how high the stakes are, and march forward with a grim, almost tired determination, making for an even and occasionally plodding pace. The story takes a lot of breaks for flashback; Larbalestier has broken the book into small, quickfire chapters that alternate between characters, and each comes with a tangential 1-2 page coda that gives a little exposition and almost reads like a vignette. But once I got used to the format, I couldn't put it down. The story doesn't offer much in the way of surprise, despite a number of twists halfway through the book, but that's okay; inevitability is one of the story's major themes, and the book winds to a very bittersweet but satisfying conclusion.

Like Bone Gap, this is a book that I'm liking more and more as I ruminate on what I just read. There's a lot to take in here, and I think this would be a hard road for some readers, both because of its unconventionality and because of its realistic, unflinching portrayal of sexuality and violence. But the evocative writing, the deeply layered characters, and the deft paranormal elements make this a fierce read for those who can appreciate it....more

This is a very interesting mix of historical fiction, sweeping romance, and low-fantasy worldbuilding. The embodiments of Love and Death have played aThis is a very interesting mix of historical fiction, sweeping romance, and low-fantasy worldbuilding. The embodiments of Love and Death have played a certain Game for ages: chose two pawns, and manipulate events to see who will claim them by a certain date. Death usually wins, as shown by the pantheon of legendary love affairs throughout history that end in tragedy, but Flora and Henry, young musicians of different races in 1930s Seattle, make for a complicated and potentially unprecedented round of the Game.

I had trouble penetrating this one, at first, because there is a lot going on. It starts with a paranormal twist, and then heads into a dual perspective into a segregated society, though only deep enough to set the stage for the meet-cute and budding romance between the protagonists. There is a detailed look at Great War-era planes, a lot of time spent in some jazz clubs, a subplot about an illiterate newspaper heir, and of course, a love affair ordained by destiny. Love takes the guise of a charismatic "mayor" of the local Hooverville, and provides a heavy-handed parallel to the main romance plotline (him being Love, after all). Death inserts herself into a variety of historically infamous tragedies, as a way of biding her time while waiting for her all-but-certain victory.

It's... a lot.

Brockenbrough is a singular writer, though, and all of this flows beautifully into a poetic epic. Though the pace is staid until the end, the book is tightly written. I think my main complaint with it is how tidy everything is. Death almost feels like Forrest Gump, the way she weaves in and out of historical setpieces, and the sweeping romance relies on a whole lot of coincidences that are not fully explained away by the meddling of demigods.

Still, the wonderful writing and surprisingly heartfelt ending saves the day, making for a dense, elegant romance that will reward patient readers....more

I heard about this graphic novel on NPR, which made my responsible adult side feel better about reading graphic novels, and my inner child feel betterI heard about this graphic novel on NPR, which made my responsible adult side feel better about reading graphic novels, and my inner child feel better about listening to NPR. Being what I’d call a casual fan of Shakespeare, it sounded like something that would be right up my alley. After reading through the first volume, I can say that I like it, but it’s not as good as I was hoping it would be.

The story picks up somewhere around the third act of Hamlet, with the Danish prince sailing off into exile rather than being sung to his rest by flights of angels. After being haunted by some familiar witches, he is cast overboard and finds himself on a strange, faraway shore, where he is greeted by everyone’s favorite gruff king with a withered hand. Richard III proclaims Hamlet to be the “Shadow King,” a figure spoken of in legend that is destined to kill a mysterious demigod known as “Shakespeare” and claim the power of his magical quill. Richard promises to bring Hamlet’s father back to him if he fulfills his destiny, but Hamlet eventually finds himself lost and alone in the countryside. A loose band of commoners opposed to Richard’s tyranny (including Falstaff, Othello, and Juliet) try to persuade Hamlet to join them, as Richard conspires with the seductive Lady Macbeth to bring the Shadow King back into his grasp.

So, the riot of Shakespeare characters assuming new personas and taking sides is enough by itself to make this volume worth checking out. I suppose that you could find yourself annoyed by the liberties taken with the Bard’s stories if you were a diehard Shakespeare nut, but I thought the reimagined relationships and alliances were deliciously fun to read. Furthermore, the proper Shakespearean tone has been set; gratuitous violence, sexual innuendo, and bad puns are all firmly in evidence.

Once the initial awesome factor wore off, though, a few things began to bother me. The story moves so quickly that there isn’t a whole lot of time to take anything in. There is a lot of reliance on the numerous cameos to move the story along (I'm not even sure why the scene with Puck was even remotely necessary), and so the plot feels a little clunky and contrived. Not to the point of being bad, but there’s definitely a “serial” feel to the volume.

The biggest problem I had, though, is with the artwork. I don’t usually get hung up on art, being the forgiving guy that I am. But honestly, I had trouble trying to puzzle out exactly what was going on at some points. The flow of the panels will often change unexpectedly, without any particular narrative reason or clearly defined map of the proceedings, forcing me to occasionally reread a few panels after getting lost. Also, abrupt shifts in setting are frequent in each chapter (especially after Hamlet takes up with the Prodigals and the narrative splits off into two branches), making it occasionally hard to figure out what’s happening even when the panel flow stays consistent. Finally, and maybe this is just me: there’s something off about the faces. The expressions are not quite real. The characters are gorgeous, and standard dialogue looks just fine, but every single reaction shot looks waaaaay overdone. As in, giant eyes, gaping mouth, parody-of-an-actual-facial-expression overdone. I feel like I’m being a touch unfair, here, because the art is very good from a technical standpoint; Belanger is no slouch. But something about the expressions just didn’t resonate for me. The characters came off as a little cartoonish, somehow. That normally wouldn’t bother me, but in this instance it just contrasted too much with the Shakespearean motif.

So, chalk this one up as a solid "acceptable," for me. Maybe not fantastic, but still pretty good. ...more

I saw the title of this book bandied about as inspiration for the Monkey Island computer games; being a diehard fan of said games, On Stranger Tides mI saw the title of this book bandied about as inspiration for the Monkey Island computer games; being a diehard fan of said games, On Stranger Tides made its way on my to-read list quite some time ago. After another mention by a pirate-loving friend (and a timely re-release of the hilarious Monkey Island games), I finally got around to picking this one up.

Honestly, this book has everything that a seeker of pirate adventure and voodoo shenanigans can hope for. John Chandagnac, a hapless puppeteer, is trying to get to Haiti in order to confront a scheming uncle that has stolen his inheritance. He charters a ship alongside Oxford professor Benjamin Hurwood, his pretty daughter Beth, and his odd assistant, Leo Friend. In the blink of an eye, he finds himself in dire straits; pirates attack the ship, and capture it with the apparent aid of Hurwood and Friend. Through a mostly reflexive act of courage and swordsmanship, John finds himself pressed into the victorious pirate crew. Now known by his new cohorts as Jack Shandy, he attempts to survive his rough new environment, initially in order to find his way back to Haiti. However, primal forces still rule the Caribbean jungles and marshes, and Shandy realizes they are being awakened and manipulated by Benjamin Hurwood and Leo Friend. After Shandy deduces the twisted fate that Hurwood has in store for his daughter, he follows Hurwood and Friend in order to thwart their unnatural plans and rescue her. His journey takes him to the fabled Fountain of Youth, and entwines him with the legendary pirate and vodun prince, Edward Thatch, otherwise known as Blackbeard. In order to save a woman he increasingly realizes that he loves, Shandy may have to learn how to navigate the dark magic of the untamed Caribbean islands, himself.

This book is a delicious rum punch, full of swashbuckling and spellcasting. It moves at a quick pace, and visits a wide variety of settings, from battles at sea to pirate encampments to sinister, dreamlike places of magic. Powers has a real talent for description and mood, making the reader see what the characters see and feel what they feel without wasting space with too much exposition or overly purple prose. The plotting is tight, with clearly defined acts and a number of twists with just the right amount of foreshadowing.

The characters, though, leave something to be desired. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is. I really wanted to love this book wholeheartedly, and I did like it a lot, but the characters just didn’t quite do it for me. The characterizations are done well; each of the characters’ backstories and eccentricities make them stand out and entice the reader to learn more, and maybe this is part of the problem. At the end, I still wanted to learn more. Within all of the action, the characters just seemed like they weren’t really along for the ride, for some reason. Jack Shandy is fairly milquetoast for most of the book, even at his pirating best. Beth Hurwood is a stereotypically uninteresting damsel-in-distress. Leo Friend is wholly consumed by his mannerisms. Even Blackbeard seems brooding and terrifying only in a clinical sort of way. Benjamin Hurwood is an exception, as he realistically descends into madness that simultaneously evokes pity, disgust, and fear. I don’t know what more I want from the characters, as the book is already great. All I know is that my favorite books usually distract me from everything else and force me to sit and read until they are done. On Stranger Tides, despite its great premise and tight writing, never quite grabbed me at that level, for some reason.

Nevertheless, this really is a great story. And definitely a must-read for anyone who has played a Monkey Island game, daydreamed their way through a classic pirate tale, or rode Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland more than twice in one day. Which reminds me; apparently this book has been optioned for the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I’m fairly confident they will mutilate this story, and early synopses seem to verify that opinion. So, if you plan on seeing that movie, read this book first. Even though I like those movies, I guarantee that the book will be better; it’s pirates and voodoo and unapologetic darkness, sans any slapstick for the kids, making it a definitive work for any good Golden Age of Piracy enthusiast....more

Solid and readable to begin with, but it lost me at the point Eliza as a POV character started intentionally self-deprecating in order to signal her iSolid and readable to begin with, but it lost me at the point Eliza as a POV character started intentionally self-deprecating in order to signal her interest in Alex. Maybe that resolves itself in a clever way later, but... gross. Still, it's a period romance that feels contemporary, with clever Easter eggs for fans of the Broadway show, so it's most definitely a perfect book for particular readers....more

Kay’s latest history/fantasy mashup takes the reader to a simulacrum of Tang Dynasty China, with all of the flowery, evocative prose that could be expKay’s latest history/fantasy mashup takes the reader to a simulacrum of Tang Dynasty China, with all of the flowery, evocative prose that could be expected from such a journey. Under Heaven drew me in quick, and I finished it with the wistful satisfaction that is the hallmark of a good story. Somehow, though, I think I wanted just a little bit more out of this book.

The book begins on the haunted shore of a lake called Kuala Nor, in a mountain valley on the border between the nations of Kitai and Tagura. For two years, Shen Tai has toiled alone to bury the bones of dead soldiers from past battles in valley. Tai, an ex-soldier and former Kanlin Warrior-in-training (think Shaolin monk), chose this penance as mourning and tribute for his father, a renowned general with an uncharacteristic pacifist streak. His willingness to live and work among the shrieking ghosts of Kuala Nor has attracted the attention and awe of both nations, which typically spend their time staring at each other and waiting for another war to start. As the story opens, the Taguran royalty (which happens to include a Kitai princess) chooses to reward Tai’s perseverance and respect with an unthinkably lavish gift: 250 Sardian horses, the graceful mounts from the far west that inspire art, poetry, and legend among the Kitai. Before Tai can even begin processing such a gift, he finds himself fending off an unexpected assassination attempt. Reluctantly, he journeys back into the empire of Kitai, in order to discover who wants him dead and why. However, his herd of horses gives him a newfound wealth and power that makes him a new player in Kitai politics, which have taken a dangerous turn since his self-imposed exile.

Though the story lies on the framework of the An Shi Rebellion's beginning years, the novel’s focus remains squarely on Shen Tai, the people he cares about, and the people who have a newfound interest in him and his game-changing horses. Under Heaven is a story about people, who do the best they can when plunged into events they have no control over. In this, Kay does a fantastic job; Tai’s moments of danger and self-discovery dovetail nicely with the occasional bit of omniscient narration highlighting the capricious nature of history and the important role that chance plays.

Honestly, though, the actual plot threads felt like they were tied a little loosely. The plights of the various characters sometimes don’t quite intersect with the main story. This is a conscious choice of Kay’s, as a major theme here is how quickly we can be swept up in the current due to seemingly insignificant choices. However, the subplots that get left unresolved or abruptly halted can be jarring. The pacing gets odd, as well, with the middle being considerable slower than the first act, and the climax appearing almost out of nowhere. Well, not out nowhere, I guess, since political intrigue stories always end with some real shit going down, but I had some sort of cognitive break between the setup and the delivery. I think less time could have been spent on walking from place to place, and more on some of the family intrigue that gets constructed so nicely in the beginning and then oddly short-changed as the story unfolds.

The characters are occasionally unsatisfying, as well, for all that this is a character piece, with many of them needing just a little more nuance and depth; Kay utilizes takes the same “epic archetype” approach to characterization that he did in Tigana. Strangest of all, though, are the characters that are introduced for no real reason. Some are redshirts that are killed off after a few pages of intricate backstory, and one (a courtesan near the beginning) actually takes control of the narrative for part of a chapter, and is subsequently never heard from again. That, in particular, was weird. I spent the rest of the book wondering why I was supposed to care about her. Again, I’m pretty sure Kay did that on purpose- one of those philosophical interjections at the end muses on the truism of incidental, passing characters in history playing out their own dramas and tragedies. Still, it bugged the hell out of me.

But it also made me think of the Chinese epic, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, with its cavalcade of minor characters contributing to a more complicated tapestry. Kay researched epic Chinese poetry when writing this, and it shows in these seemingly random intersection of characters, as well as in the attention to beautiful details in the setting and the pensive melancholy that pervades the entire affair. And I’ll admit it; I’m a sucker for epilogues. Seriously, every time I’ve seen people moan and complain about epilogues that are too long or too sappy, I end up loving them when I read them. The epilogue here was the same. I was so satisfied with and emotionally moved by the way in which Kay wrapped his story up that it quelled the growing discontent I was nurturing after getting through the second act.

Overall, this is a beautiful story. Definitely worth looking into if you are interested in historical fiction (the fantasy elements are fairly light, here) or in Asian-inspired fantasy. I don’t find myself quite as awed by this one as I was by Tigana, and I hear that if I liked Tigana, I need to read Kay’s other, better works. However, from a strictly aesthetic standpoint, this is a wonderful elegy that is worth reading simply for its abstractly gorgeous imagery, and for the mood it sets....more

**spoiler alert** Back when I finished Under the Jolly Roger, I observed that it would have made a great ending to the series with a few minor changes**spoiler alert** Back when I finished Under the Jolly Roger, I observed that it would have made a great ending to the series with a few minor changes, and started to fear that the series would drag on too long and become uninteresting. My fascination with the excellent fourth book assuaged that fear temporarily, but between Mississippi Jack and this one, I’m starting to think I was right. This book is... fine. I guess. But as with the previous book, I’ve seen it all before. The only thing that has really changed is the setting.

After evading them for three books, Jacky Faber is finally captured by the Royal Navy on the charge of piracy. Expecting to be taken back to London for execution, Jacky instead finds herself conscripted as a spy, and placed in the heart of Paris to ferret out Napoleon Bonaparte’s plans. She is initially placed as a dancer and courtesan, but fearing for her safety and virtue, she manages to instead talk her way into a role as a messenger for Napoleon’s army. However, this plan backfires as she nevertheless finds herself in danger, charging onto a bloody battlefield with her new French compatriots against the Prussians.

There are a lot of elements here that could be exciting. In fact, they would be exciting if this was, say, the second Jacky Faber book, instead of the sixth. However, the characters and story are once again a slave to the formula this time around. Jacky is constantly spared from ignoble death at the last minute! She disguises herself as both a boy and a femme fatale, and is nearly discovered when she does both in the same day! Everybody loves Jacky Faber upon first meeting! She has a torrid affair with an attractive young man, but still secretly pines for her Jaimy! She wildly succeeds in an important commanding role she has no training for! She does something zany that makes her the hero of the day! She inexplicably becomes the darling of high-ranking, important people who meet her in passing!

In addition to the plot being lifted piecemeal from the previous books, I found the action itself to be curiously deflated and uninteresting. Even at the story’s climax (and there was a climax and falling action this time, which was a marked improvement from the last book), when she’s charging full bore at the head of a French battalion, I found myself not very excited or interested in what happened. Sad as I am to admit it, in fact, I think Jacky Faber is finally starting to irritate me a little. Her penchant for using sex appeal to get what she wants is starting to read as cynical and almost implausible, especially considering that other characters are starting to openly acknowledge that fact. She’s still a likeable and believable character, herself, but I think I’m starting to get a little fatigued by her endless skillset and uncanny luck, six books in.

I did like catching up with some characters we haven’t heard from in a while. But this whole series is starting to feel forced. The meeting with Napoleon at the end was particularly Forrest Gump-esque... just look at all of the wild and crazy situations Jacky Faber can get into! I think my frustration is that this series started as a very fun and promising nautical adventure series, and is becoming a typical young-adult cash cow. Jacky Faber and the Case of the _________! Jacky Faber Goes to ________! I don’t have anything particularly bad to say about this book, but I think I’m ready for Jacky to marry Jaimy and be done, if Meyer isn't going to have her mature or change any further. ...more

This one is actually a bit of a change from the previous Jacky Faber books. This is a much darker story, held in a much more confined setting: the holThis one is actually a bit of a change from the previous Jacky Faber books. This is a much darker story, held in a much more confined setting: the hold of a slave ship. However, I have to say, Meyer outdoes himself with this one. Fresh off of the excellent Under the Jolly Roger, this one doesn’t at all disappoint; in fact, if it weren’t for some petty quibbles I have with the ending, this would by far be my favorite of the series, and even then is much better written than the enormously fun but somewhat lightweight previous book.

The book starts with Jacky heading back to the Lawson Peabody School for Girls in Boston, hiding from the Royal Navy after her brush with piracy. My fears that this would be a return to the period piece Mean Girls action of Curse of the Blue Tattoo were assuaged, however, as Jacky and most of her schoolmates find themselves captured by a slaver during a field trip and bound for the Barbary Coast of North Africa. The rest of the story takes place in the hold of the slave ship Bloodhound, as the girls attempt to keep their spirits up through a terrifying and demeaning ordeal, and use their wits to try to escape from what seems to be a sealed fate.

In the Belly of the Bloodhound is kind of a departure from the previous books, in that Meyer does away with the breakneck speed and variety of impossible adventures of the previous installments. Not that Jacky’s penchant for histrionics and talent for being the center of attention are diminished, by any means, but this particular adventure is a lot more somber and subdued (with good reason, considering the circumstances). This book is also the darkest of the series thus far. The realities of being captured by slavers and the things one must do in order to get by in such a situation, combined with horrifying recollections of some of the girls’ pasts and ruminations on their possible futures, make for a novel that is considerably more adult in tone those that came before.

The character work is fantastic in this book. There are a lot of nice touches that Meyer puts on his characters, and he is particularly deft at creating subtle connections between characters and creating nuances without descending into stereotype. And I must say, I am particularly enamored of Jacky’s nemesis, Clarissa Worthington Howe. A classic bully archetype in the second book, she has evolved into a fascinating character. Throughout the ordeal on the Bloodhound, Clarissa proves to be a pivotal leader due to her strength and resolve, resulting in a sort of anti-hero; it’s now easy to root for her for the same reasons that it was easy to hate her before. The trick is, however, that she hasn’t appreciably changed in this book. Though we learn a little bit more about her past, which makes her more sympathetic and explains her character a little, she is just as nasty to Jacky now as she always was. Furthermore, we learn that she is an avowed racist, and actually uses this to her advantage in order to provoke the girls’ tormentors. Not only was I cheering Clarissa on despite her being a fairly bad person, but Jacky and Clarissa have to come to terms with respecting each other and working together, despite their dislike for one another not really abating. Simply excellent characterization here, and it’s only the most prominent of many examples.

I loved the entire book, with the exception of the ending. The ending didn’t really ruin the story for me, but it bugged me a little too much to ignore. Despite the tense, drawn-out pace of most of the story, the ending resolves quickly and almost too neatly. I almost feel like Meyer remembered he was writing for teens instead of adults at the last minute, and thus swerved off of the grim course he was on. While there was bloodshed, most of it was foreshadowed, and the consequences of their daring plan went just far enough for things to be scary without seeming too gritty or... well, real. I was particularly bothered by what happens to Nettles, in the book’s one genuine cop-out. Not that the end is sanitized, by any means; bad stuff happens, to great effect. It just didn’t quite match up to what I was expecting, for some reason. And the book ends on a cliffhanger, which, I’m sorry, I loathe. Ambiguous non-endings are one thing, but cliffhangers bother me and make me feel a little cheated.

Ending aside, though, I loved the rest of this book even more than the last. It almost feels like a chapter, rather than a book... if this were a standalone work or my introduction to the series, I don’t think I’d like it as much. But for those who have read the series up to this point, it is both a fantastic adventure in its own right and a fascinating look at how all of the characters we’ve heretofore known are maturing and developing....more

The adventures of Jacky Faber continue in the second book of the Bloody Jack series, though it appears that they continue on dry land. I love this booThe adventures of Jacky Faber continue in the second book of the Bloody Jack series, though it appears that they continue on dry land. I love this book as much as the first one, even though the flaws are uncorrected and, if anything, magnified in the second installment. This is a wonderfully fun story, but I wondered for a while how I was going to feel about it.

Curse of the Blue Tattoo picks up right where the first book left off, with Jacky on her way to the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls in Boston. Though the story begins as a sort of period piece Mean Girls (sparking fears of not liking a story so dramatically different from the first book), Jacky's Cockney feistiness and propensity for finding trouble ensure that she does not lack for adventure in such a potentially repressive environment. As she tries to fit in to the world of New England high society and waits desperately for word from her beloved Jaimy, she discovers dangers more subtle and sinister than pirate attacks: thieves and panderers in the guise of friends, plots to ruin the lives and fortunes of the few true friends she makes, and the unwelcome attention of the local preacher, who possesses a fire for purging perceived sin and a dark reputation among the school's serving girls.

This book moves at a breakneck pace, and as a result suffers from an acute case of overload-itis. The problem isn't so much that there are multiple story threads, as Meyer handles this deftly. The problem is that Jacky becomes the star of so many shows here that one begins to wonder where she finds the time. There are promotions and demotions at the school, a showdown with a queen bee, a pivotal horse race, an obscenity trial, a shipboard escape, a growing musical act, a burgeoning theatre career, and a murder mystery. Seriously. And that's not even taking into account the smaller, one-chapter scenarios Meyer throws into the mix. While everything is written well enough so as not to confuse the story, it does make Jacky seem even more like a Mary Sue than she did in the first book. Every chapter, she ends up the belle of a different ball.

That being said, it really is impossible not to love Jacky Faber. She has the right mix of hardiness and vulnerability, and is surprisingly believable for her age despite her somewhat outlandish background and experiences. That's exactly what makes the whirlwind of different scenes in this book forgivable, as it's undeniably fun to read about Jacky's adventures... in fact, her frankness and naïveté would probably get irritating if she wasn't always in motion, which is why I worried a little bit during the "learning to be a lady" sections. All of the other characters are great, too, being simple and sympathetic without being one-dimensional.

In short, while this book/series does have some fairly apparent flaws, one hardly can ask for more from it as a story for young adults. On to the next one; from the ending of Curse of a Blue Tattoo, it seems we have even more extravagant adventures in store....more

For as learned as I pretend to be, I've never really been exposed to horrors that the Soviet Union perpetrated onThis is a brutal, fascinating book.

For as learned as I pretend to be, I've never really been exposed to horrors that the Soviet Union perpetrated on Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Finland, and other Eastern European states in the years leading into the Second World War. I had an abstract knowledge of Stalin being much worse than Hitler in terms of slaughtering his own people, but the specifics get lost in the historical focus on the Holocaust. This is a fictionalized account of a Lithuanian teenager whose family gets seized in the night, shoved into cattle cars, and forced to work in state-run farms in Siberia and the North Pole. There isn't much in the way of plot, other than a tentative romance; Lina's entire story is one of endurance, surviving with her mother and young brother and waiting for someone— Germans? Americans? Her missing father?— to rescue them.

The only complaint I have is that the horrific drudgery of Lina's plight makes for an occasionally aimless story that ends rather abruptly. But that's a small price to pay for story that needs to be told, and this tightly written book had me from beginning to end....more

This is a fascinating book that ended up grabbing me after my initial assumptions that I wasn’t going to like it very much.

Delaney uses a very specifiThis is a fascinating book that ended up grabbing me after my initial assumptions that I wasn’t going to like it very much.

Delaney uses a very specific convention to tell the story, splitting the narration between two main protagonists: the memoirs of an Irish man named Charles O’Brien, written at the turn of the 20th century, and the commentaries and reflections on said memoirs by a historian that discovered them. Through the research of the latter narrator, we also get perspectives through the journal of Charles’s mother, the oral history of his best friend, and the letters written by the love of his life, April Burke. The myriad voices weave together to tell the story of a particular estate in Ireland around the time of the Irish War of Independence and Civil War, which itself serves as the backdrop for Charles’s determined passion and pursuit of his great, unrequited love, and for the historian narrator’s revelations about his own past.

The book is about as complicated as it sounds from that paragraph, which is why I was a little annoyed with it at first. The reader doesn’t get much warning of when the various narrators tag each other in and out, which can lead to some confusion and re-reading of previous pages. As more characters get introduced, these shifts of narration get even more dizzying. However, as I got used to it and began to recognize the mannerisms of each character, I found that the multiple perspectives on each of the story’s events gave them a satisfying dimension, and Delaney times these shifts to great effect, giving insights into the characters and how they viewed the people and events around them.

I have to admit I didn’t like the characters much, at first. Charles is already in his forties when he falls in love with a teenaged April, and this, combined with the obsessive nature of his infatuation with her, makes him a little creepy and hard to sympathize with. April, too, comes off as singularly cold and cruel. Once again, though, the combination of the stories told by each of the different characters in the book paint a gradually unfolding picture that reveals nuanced examinations of each of them. I’m almost glad I didn’t like them at first, because in the end, it made them more believable.

Although Charles’s seemingly random interactions with great Irish poets and revolutionary figures came off as somewhat gimmicky at times, Delaney has proven to be a deft storyteller. The book is a detailed character study wrapped in a compelling historical fiction tale, with flourishes of the bravado and sly color of the Irish storytelling tradition. The story is slow and light on dramatic action, but I still had no trouble reading it, and am now excited to read Delaney’s other works....more

I really want to like Nielsen's books. I really, really do. But just as with The False Prince, this one left me unsatisfied. It's action-packed, and fI really want to like Nielsen's books. I really, really do. But just as with The False Prince, this one left me unsatisfied. It's action-packed, and full of both cool fantasy tropes and accurate (and interesting) Roman history, but everything happens at the surface level without lingering too long on the details. There is a lot of hand-waving involved in explaining this alternate Rome's magic and religious lore, and since there are a whole lot of these elements introduced throughout the book, none of it feels particularly cohesive. The characters are engaging but not all that deep, and the protagonist is pretty unlikeable when he isn't in the thick of action (which, to be fair, is most of the book).

I don't know. The star rating indicates that I didn't like the book, but that's not really true; I found it very readable and fun, especially in the latter half. I just think it's squarely aimed at younger teens and those without much experience with the fantasy genre. This is a perfect read-this-next for those coming off of Rick Riordan's books, and is otherwise a enjoyable, if lightweight, diversion....more

This is a beautiful book, but it's so slow. The setting is rich, the format is complex, and the characters are fairly impenetrable. A slow-burning tenThis is a beautiful book, but it's so slow. The setting is rich, the format is complex, and the characters are fairly impenetrable. A slow-burning tensions suffuses the entire book as Em and Teo hurtle towards the Italian invasion of Ethiopia, but there isn't much in the way of plot until the last third of the book. A suddenly explosive ending expertly ties everything from the previous pages together and ends on a hopeful note, but it took me quite some time to get there. The story is expertly researched and written, but it's definitely for established fans of historical fiction....more

Taut, powerful piece of middle-grade fiction that counts as historical only so far as its rural American setting in the midst of WWII. A tale about buTaut, powerful piece of middle-grade fiction that counts as historical only so far as its rural American setting in the midst of WWII. A tale about bullying pivots into a mystery revolving around a missing girl and a strange, war-scarred drifter, and resolves as a messy, poignant commentary about hard truths. Wolk does something incredible here by taking some very complicated moral concepts and boiling them down into a tale for children that is both engaging and easy to read, aside from a few troubling moments of real darkness. The only nit I have to pick is that we've seen tales like this before; the heartbreaking transition away from a childlike belief in a just world, helped along by the persecution of a misunderstood recluse, has been done in both classic (Harper Lee) and modern (David Almond) literature for young people. Still, Wolk's take is outstanding, in that it trusts the reader with some very heavy ideas underneath the incredibly well-written story, to great effect....more